Biter
by WhatareWordsIfnotLife
Summary: Carl Grimes has never experienced the full horror of what the world had to offer, until he was seperated from his group at the Terminus camp. What he faces, what he survives, what they all survive is, and always will be, a matter of personal strength along with the support of those who remain closest.
1. I'll Be Okay

**This story popped into my head, out of absolutely nowhere, last night and I've been writing it like a person possessed. **

**Warning: This is a Mature story with adult subject matter. It involves dark, sometimes unpleasant, situations that may not be suitable for some. Turn back if that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable. What I love about TWD world is that it pushes the limits of the human psyche and can make for some very pliable fiction. This is a little outside of anything I've ever written, but if you're not scared off, please enjoy! Reviews are welcome, but no flames, I beg of you! **

**P.S. I do not own The Walking Dead, this is purely fan based. **

* * *

Carl Grimes didn't know what he had expected, but this was certainly not it. It wasn't even close, which isn't to say that this was better, it wasn't. Not by a longshot. Gareth pushed him forward roughly towards one of the four dog kennels in the middle of the poorly lit room. The kennels alone were intimidating, just barely the size a grown human being could, uncomfortably, fit inside. What really disturbed Carl was that two of them were already occupied; one of them, by what it sounded like, a Walker. The one beside that, on the left, held what Carl thought was a girl, curled up in a ball. She didn't stir and Carl honestly wasn't sure if she was even alive. Carl was vaguely thankful that he was being steered towards the kennel farthest away from the Walker, as the only other choice was the empty cage on the right side of the writhing, decaying form. He would be next to the girl, whom he silently prayed wasn't actually dead, and wouldn't rise as one of the undead. He didn't like the idea of being next to one of them. He didn't like the idea of being there at all, but small comforts would have to do until the others figured out a plan to get them all out of this mess.

Terminus had not been the happy, peaceful retreat they had hoped for. He should have known. They all should have known. He was worried, not just for himself, but his family, his friends. They were locked up like cattle and he understood that he was to be locked up like some rabid dog. He hadn't wanted to leave the crate with Gareth, but there was no choice. The crate's door had opened and they'd all been momentarily blinded by the invading sunlight. It had been over a day since they'd been put into that dark, box. When a voice had called out for 'the kid', Carl had felt his stomach sink. They wanted him. He was told to come out without a fuss and, anyone who wasn't Carl, would be shot. Carl had felt his Dad's hand on his shoulder, felt it tighten as his father's gruff voice answered, "No, you aren't gettin' my son." The disembodied voice from outside had replied, "He comes out or we open fire on you all, we'll kill you right now. Besides," the voice went on, "We aren't here to hurt him; we just want some insurance for your continued cooperation. You have my word, the boy won't be harmed." No one in the crate felt reassured as they murmured their distress to one another. Rick wasn't buying it, "What makes you think your word means anything to us?"

The voice was calm, collected as it shot back, "If we had wanted him dead, or any of you for that matter, we had our chance earlier. You're still alive right?" Rick didn't like it, didn't want to take a chance on his sons life. The voice, sensing this, said again, "We will open fire if you don't comply, that's a promise. We do that, your boys dead anyway. You're all dead." It was Carl who had made the first move. He stepped away from his dad, walked towards the sunlight. Rick had stopped him, "Don't. You don't need to do this." Carl didn't want to go, he really and truly didn't, but he also didn't want to see everyone hurt, or worse, when he could have stopped it. He looked at his dad, straightened up and said with more confidence than he felt, "I want to, I have to. He's right; they could have already killed us by now. I'll be alright." He leaned in closer and whispered just loud enough for Rick to hear, "Keep thinking of a plan. Maybe I'll be able to help from the outside. This is our best option, Dad." Carl didn't think his dad would agree, but after a long pause he saw his father nod, "Okay. I don't like it, but okay."

That had been that. Rick had given Carl a hug, said he loved him, and told him to stay safe, that they would be coming for him soon. Carl had clambered out of the cart and the door had been slammed shut behind him. It was Gareth who had been talking to them; he was with a group of armed men. They'd bound his hands with a zip tie and led him into the compound. Carl didn't have the chance to run like he'd hoped. There were too many of them and he was weaponless. When they'd gotten deeper into the building, Gareth had waved the armed men away, leading Carl roughly by the back of his neck. They'd come to an imposing looking door and Carl had braced himself for the worst.

He returned to the present moment, wondering how he was going to get out of his current predicament. Gareth shoved him to his knees when they reached the kennels opening, prodding him to move forward into it. Carl resisted, an action that earned him an angry swat to his backside; it hurt, but not enough to make him crawl inside. Gareth chuckled menacingly beside his ear, alarming Carl at how close he was, "Kid, you're gonna get in there one way or another. You can do it the nice and easy way or I can make you, your choice." The threat was taken as it was intended, seriously, but Carl Grimes was a stubborn boy. He wasn't going in without a fight. He pretended to do as he was instructed, moving just slightly in the direction of the kennels opening. It caused the desired effect he was hoping for; Gareth loosened his grip on Carl's neck. Not completely, but enough for the young boy to jerk backwards and connect the back of his skull with Gareth's face. "Fuck!" He heard, dimly aware that he'd broken completely free of the older man's hold. Carl hadn't considered that a head-butt would cause him pain too, but he ignored the sharp ache; there wasn't any time for it. He pressed off of the cold cement ground with his bound hands and lurched, unsteadily away from Gareth who had a hand up to his face, blood trickling through his fingers. Good, Carl thought venomously, I hope it hurt like hell.

He was wobbly on his feet, but he managed not to fall over as he ran back to the door they'd come in from. He grabbed the handle, somewhat awkwardly, and tugged. It didn't budge at all. For a second, Carl's throbbing head didn't register the meaning behind the doors stubbornness; he tugged again. Still, it didn't budge. He felt himself being gripped around his middle as he was pulled away from the door. He tried desperately to hold onto it, but his hands didn't have a good enough hold. He was spun around, facing the kennels once again. Carl squirmed, tried to kick backwards, but he couldn't manage to land a solid connection. His assailant laughed a cold, hard sound that mixed with the sound of something jingling. Gareth, still holding him around his waist, held up something in front of Carl's face with his free hand, "Door locks from the outside; gotta use these to get out." It took a moment for him to register what it was that was glinting in front of him: keys. Carl reached for them, catching only air as Gareth jerked the ring of keys out of his reach before pocketing them again, "Uh-uh. Bad little boys don't get shiny things, they get their asses whooped." A snort of frustration came from the boy as he attempted to twist around and get his hands into Gareth's pocket, the one that held his only chance for escape. Gareth twisted his own body out of the way of Carl's prying hands, "Come on and stop that now before you really make me mad."

Carl was angry, and naturally hot-headed, so of course he did the stupid thing. He stopped moving, turned and tilted his head around, and spit. The loogie hit its mark, Gareth's face. Carl was particularly pleased to see his spit mingling with the drying blood Gareth had attempted to wipe from his face, thanks to the busted nose Carl had given him. For good measure Carl added, "Go to hell." It occurred to the young Grimes, as he was roughly forced onto the floor, that his taunt may not have been his best idea ever. A revelation made all the more certain as his captor placed a heavy knee on the small of his back, and pressed. "Ah!" Carl cried out as the pressure turned to pain. He could hear the smile in Gareth's voice as he spoke, "That's much better, you smartass kid. I told you earlier, we could do this the easy or the hard way, what you get from here on is your own fault." Carl whimpered involuntarily as the pressure increased, sighing in relief a moment later, when it backed off. He was lifted roughly to his own knees, back pressed against Gareth's chest by a forearm around his neck. With his hands bound, Carl couldn't do much more than claw weakly against the arm holding him in place.

He briefly wondered why the neck of his shirt was being pulled aside, but the question didn't linger as he felt his answer. Teeth were being pressed into the tender part of his flesh, right between the base of his neck and shoulder. That's not right; Carl thought wildly, he's human, he can't do this. Then an unwelcome vision came to mind, his own dad ripping out a man's throat. Carl's eyes widened in panic as Gareth bit down harder; breaking the skin. Is this it? Is this how I die, Carl asked to no one in particular as he'd long since stop believing in a God. Images of what would happen next danced wildly in front of his eyes, none of them pleasant. Then, the teeth were gone. Carl's panicked mind registered the pain, understood that he'd just been bitten and _hard_. What his brain was having trouble with was the part that the biter hadn't been a walker, but a man. A regular human being had bitten him and Carl didn't understand. The teeth came again, only, this time it was his shoulder. He had been too caught up in the confusion of his thoughts to hear or feel the collar of his shirt rip, exposing more of his pale skin to his attacker.

This time the shock didn't mask the pain; Carl felt it and it was awful. He cried out, renewed his struggles, but Gareth's mouth was firmly latched. His attempts only seemed to cause the man to bite down harder, deeper than the first. "Stop," He choked, "_Please!_" To his immense relief, Gareth did stop. Carl went limp; this was too much. His young mind had already seen and experienced so many horrors, but this didn't make any sense to him. Walker's he understood, didn't like them, but he understood what drove them to do what they did. His father's actions, he understood them too. His dad hadn't torn into another man's flesh for any other reason than to save Carl, to save all of them. It was gross, desperate, but he could reason with his father's actions. With Gareth though, there was no reasoning. He'd done it to hurt Carl, to punish him. He'd done one of the most taboo things you could do in their world. It was wrong. From behind him came Gareth's voice, amused, "What, don't like my choice in fetish?" Carl didn't know what 'fetish' was, but no, he certainly didn't like it.


	2. Why?

**Whoo, on a roll! Thanks to those of you who reviewed, faved, and followed! I hope chapter two doesn't disappoint!**

**Warning: This is a Mature story with adult subject matter. It involves dark, sometimes unpleasant, situations that may not be suitable for some. Turn back if that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable. What I love about TWD world is that it pushes the limits of the human psyche and can make for some very pliable fiction. This is a little outside of anything I've ever written, but if you're not scared off, please enjoy! Reviews are welcome, but no flames, I beg of you!**

**P.S. I do not own The Walking Dead, this is purely fan based. **

He was in the cage, like Gareth had told him he would be. It was cramped, no room to stretch his legs which were beginning to seize up. Carl had tried to find the most comfortable position he could, but none of them allowed his legs to fully extend. His hands, still bound by the zip tie, were going numb too. He didn't know how long he'd been there, it felt like days had passed; if he had to guess it was probably no more than a couple of hours, in reality. His shoulder and neck both stung and ached terribly, putting his leg cramps, and the mild throbbing of his head, in last place on the list of his pains. He brought a hand up to gingerly touch the places he'd been bitten, but quickly removed them as he aggravated the wounds further. They had stopped bleeding a while before, but he felt tears well up in his eyes at the memory of how he'd gotten them. Carl had been shot and that had been the absolute worst agony of his life. The bites didn't compare to that, but that had been different. It had been an accident, one that he had survived and healed from. He had moved on from that memory shortly after he had been back on his feet.

Carl felt violated in a way he couldn't explain. The closest he'd ever felt to it was the night they'd reunited with Daryl. He still remembered the fear of that night, the confusion. When it had happened he had been half asleep, still groggy as he was wrestled to the ground. He hadn't understood that something was even more off than what he had originally thought until he'd felt something hard pressing into his backside. Then had come the sound of a belt buckle being undone. After it was over, when he was safe and back inside the vehicle with Michonne, he'd asked her about it. Michonne had stopped stroking his long hair for a beat before returning to running her fingers through it again. Her voice was soothing as she spoke, "Have you heard about the birds and the bees?" Carl had looked up at her, grimacing, "Yeah, Dad talked to me about it back at the prison, why?" Michonne couldn't seem to look him in the eyes as she went on, "Well, when a girl doesn't want to, a man can still force her if he's strong enough." Carl's frown had grown deeper, "That's not right."

Michone had nodded in agreement, "It isn't, but it still happens. There are bad people out there Carl and some of them also like to…to do _that_, kind of thing to boys as well." Carl thought about her words, thought long about it. He thought about how he had been pushed down onto his stomach, had felt that hard thing pressing into him in what his dad had called an 'intimate' place. He heard, again, the sound of the, now dead, man's buckle coming undone. He thought of what that had meant and put it together. It had grown quiet in the car and Michonne had thought Carl had already fallen asleep. It startled her when his soft voice asked another question in an almost whisper, "Was…was that man going to do _that_ to me?" It had pained her to answer, but Michonne knew that Carl needed to know the real dangers of the world now that they were beyond the safe gates of their prison home. She nodded; knowing he couldn't see her she said out loud a soft, simple, "Yes." Outside Rick had been listening. It had been hard to eavesdrop on their conversation, but, in a way, Rick was grateful that Michonne had been able to explain to his son what he could not bring himself to.

Carl woke, jumping at the sudden harsh sound of a door banging shut. Fear gripped his heart as Gareth's form came into the faintly lit room where his prisoners were held. It was darker than before Carl had fallen asleep, he wondered how long he'd been out. Gareth stopped in front of Carl's kennel, stooping down to peer in at him. Carl tried not to show his fear, willed his heart to slow down its fast paced rhythmic pumping. Gareth held a water bottle in his hand, shaking it in front of him, "Thirsty?" Carl was, he noted, very thirsty. He nodded. Gareth grinned, it was the same friendly smile that had greeted Carl, his dad, Daryl, and Michonne when they'd snuck up on the Terminus group. Carl didn't trust that grin for a second.

Gareth clasped the water bottle in both hands as he laid out the rules, "This is how it's going to work, kid; I'm going to open the kennel door and you're going to come out slowly. You try any one of your little stunts from before and," he paused, smile growing malicious, "I think you can guess what will happen." It was almost funny how, as much as Carl didn't want to be trapped in a dog cage, he also didn't want to come out. He almost didn't, but he was afraid of making Gareth mad. Carl was brave, but he wasn't stupid. Well, not all of the time. Just as he was supposed to, Carl made his way out of the kennel slowly, awkwardly. It was difficult to maneuver in the small space with his numb hands still tied together and his right leg had also fallen asleep. He was halfway out when Gareth gripped him underneath of his arms and hauled him to a standing position. Carl's leg buckled and he dipped down, held up only by Gareth's hold on him.

The water bottle was on the ground, Carl eyed it thirstily. Gareth noticed where his gaze was, "You'll get it. But, before that, I want you to get to know your roommates." Carl turned his blue eyes towards Gareth, the question in them obvious. Gareth jerked his head towards the other two occupied kennels. Carl had actually forgotten that he wasn't alone. He'd tuned out the Walker's constant guttural growls and the other girl was still curled up in a ball, silent. Gareth dragged Carl over to the Walker's cage. Out of pure instinct, Carl tried to resist, stalling his feet. A harsh pinch to his side reminded him not to fight, not yet, anyway. He was pushed down in front of the Walker's cage, Gareth fumbled with his pocket, keeping Carl where he was by fisting his hair. A light illuminated the Walker's kennel and Carl realized that Gareth had pulled out a flashlight. Carl blinked rapidly trying to adjust his eyes to the new light source. Gareth pushed him closer to the cage so that Carl was a mere couple inches away from the metal. Decayed fingers reached out through the holes, trying to get to him. Carl flinched, pushing back on the hand that was wound tightly in his hair. In retaliation, Gareth pushed him closer, bringing him dangerously close to ragged fingernails. Carl was terrified; terrified of what was in front of him and of what was behind him. Any closer and he would be scratched, infected. He held himself perfectly still.

"Look at her," Gareth's voice held adoration, "Isn't she gorgeous?" Carl didn't understand. Was he talking about the Walker? He didn't know how to answer so he didn't. It was apparently not the correct choice as Gareth yanked on his hair and yelled, "I said look at her!" Carl did; he well and truly looked. The Walker had probably been no more than a year or two older than he was. Her blonde hair was matted, clumped together in dirty knots. Her eyes had the same dead stare as all the other walkers, but what Carl really noticed was the bite marks all over her exposed skin. Some were faded; other's more raw in her dead skin. They were odd, out of place. Walker's didn't leave those kinds of marks; they ripped through flesh and muscle, ate what they could sink their teeth into. These were- Carl gasped in understanding. "You bit her too." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Gareth didn't deny it, "She was quite the feisty one, like you. Didn't know what to do with her mouth, also, like you. Her screams though, they were the best." Carl felt sick. He didn't want to hear this, didn't want to see this. "Why?" he asked, in an almost wail. Gareth sounded strange when he answered, as if he were far away, "The first time I saw the dead bite into someone - a friend of mine, actually – you know what I felt?" Gareth didn't wait for a reply, "Excitement. Everyone around me was screaming, crying, and running away. I just stood there, mesmerized. I had never seen anything like it and it was," he paused, "…beautiful."

Carl was openly sobbing now. He finally understood; finally knew why this was happening to him. The guy was sick; he was messed up in the head. The word that came into Carl's mind: evil. The Walker's, they were horrible, but they weren't outright evil. They didn't choose to do these things, they didn't have a choice. Between the Walker in front of him and the man behind him, Carl knew which one he both hated and feared the most. It wasn't the mindless creature that reached out for him; it was the one that already had a hold of him. He cried harder wishing for all that he was worth, to be back in the crate, back with his dad and the others. Anywhere but where he was.


	3. Chew Toy

**Warning: This is a Mature story with adult subject matter. It involves dark, sometimes unpleasant, situations that may not be suitable for some. Turn back if that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable. What I love about TWD world is that it pushes the limits of the human psyche and can make for some very pliable fiction. This is a little outside of anything I've ever written, but if you're not scared off, please enjoy! Reviews are welcome, but no flames, I beg of you!**

**P.S. I do not own The Walking Dead, this is purely fan based. **

* * *

Rick was pacing; he was making everyone in the crate antsy. They were already on edge since Carl had been taken, but none more than Rick. He had fought so hard, done unspeakable things, to keep his only son safe. Then he'd let him walk out into hostile territory, alone. What had he been thinking? He should never have let him go. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, "Anyone?" He stopped pacing, searching the faces of the prison group and their new allies. They either remained quiet, or shook their heads. So far, nobody had been able to come up with a reasonable plan. They were stuck, nothing to defend themselves with, no foreseeable way out. Rick had known that Carl wouldn't be able to help them from the outside, that wasn't what made him agree to let him go.

He'd let him go out of fear. Fear that they really would start firing their guns if they refused, fear that Carl would have been killed right then and there. Rick believed the voice when it had promised to open fire; he had recognized who the voice had belonged to, the same person who had greeted them and who hadn't batted an eyelash when his fellow man was shot right in front of him, Gareth. He just hoped that he was telling the truth when he said Carl wouldn't be hurt. So far they were all still alive, that had to count for something. He prayed that they had a policy of not hurting children. He prayed for his son's safety and for a plan. From the back corner someone spoke up, "Well, I have an idea, but I doubt you're gonna like it." Rick scanned the area, Bob stood up. Rick was grateful, "Try us." Bob sighed heavily, "Well…"

Carl was no longer sobbing uncontrollably. His tears came much quieter as he tried to avert his gaze from the Walker in front of him. She had been alive, he didn't know how long ago, but she'd been a victim of Gareth's too before she'd died. Carl didn't want to end up like her. Knowing it probably wouldn't do any good, he tried anyway, "Please." Gareth, still in a daze shook his head, "Sorry, what was that?" Carl hiccupped, wiping his nose on the arm of his sleeve, "Please, I just want to go back to my Dad." Gareth was silent for a moment. Carl was about to try pleading again when he was whipped around to face an angry, crazy eyed, Gareth, "You're never going to see your dad, or any of the other's locked up in that crate, again. You're mine. I've already marked you and if I ever hear you say that again I'll do worse than bite you."

Carl couldn't help himself. He had to know, "Why? Why me?" Gareth blinked at him, "What do you mean?" It's not that Carl would have wanted anyone else to take his place, but he rephrased his question, "Why did you pick me out of everyone?" Understanding, Gareth shifted his weight, pulling Carl off of the floor so that he was standing, facing him, "That's real simple Carl, you were the easiest. Kid's always are, easy to control, easy to use as leverage. You were perfect."

As if a switch had been pressed, his face suddenly contorted into rage as he spat, "Until I get tired of you, you're _mine_. Do you understand? _Do you?_" Carl nodded, dropping his head down in defeat. Gareth brushed a piece of his hair aside, "Good. Now say it." "What?" Carl asked. "I. Want. You. To. Say it." Gareth enunciated. Carl shook his head unsure, "I-I'm yours?" He felt a hand rest on the back of his neck, not forceful, merely resting, "That's a good boy. I think you earned yourself some water." Carl was lead, more gently this time, back to his own kennel. Gareth bent down to retrieve the bottle of water and, in that moment, he was no longer touching Carl.

The idea of bringing his knee up and into Gareth's face floated into Carl's mind. He could do it, use all of his strength and then get the keys from him. It was a huge risk though, too big considering he didn't know which key unlocked the door. There were no guarantees that Carl would be able to get the door open before Gareth recovered. It hadn't taken him long to recover from Carl's head-butt. Did he really want to risk it? It didn't matter; in the split second that Carl had mulled over his choices, Gareth had already stood back up. Carl had lost his chance, whether he would have taken it or not, he didn't know.

Gareth unscrewed the top and put it up to Carl's mouth, tipping it slightly to pour the liquid out. It wasn't cold, but it was refreshing. Carl drank greedily, feeling a bit of the water slip out of the corners of his mouth as he gulped down a quarter of the water. The bottle tipped away from him, Carl let out a noise of protest that earned him a cool stare."Get in." Gareth ordered, gesturing to the kennel. Carl did; making the same slow progress as he had when he'd come out. "Now turn around." Carl had trouble, but he managed to rotate himself so that he was back facing the entrance.

Gareth produced a pocket knife, making him flinch and lean back against the cage. Gareth gave him that same charming smile that he had on their arrival, "Don't be scared. Stick out your hands for me." Carl hesitated, but thrust out his arms, both hands balled into fists. The knife slid between his wrists before flicking up, releasing him from the zip tie. Carl hadn't noticed that his hands had begun to turn purple; he could barely feel them at all. Gareth pocketed the knife, a motion Carl carefully watched. If he had known about the small weapon he would have attacked Gareth, then he could have taken the knife and stabbed him. He didn't want to think about how close he could have been to freedom.

He was going to pull his hands away, but Gareth took hold of them, massaging and squeezing them. Carl didn't complain since it was bringing the feeling back into them. The circular pattern he was using would have felt nice if it had been anyone else doing it. Gareth leaned in, bringing his face closer to Carl's hands; he could feel his warm breath on them. In a flash, Gareth had brought Carl's wrist up to his mouth, nipping him lightly. Carl blanched, snatching his hand away, pulling it to his chest protectively. It didn't hurt so much as it startled him. "You're a toy kid, a chew toy." Gareth laughed at his own joke, a laugh Carl didn't join in on. He glared at Gareth; Carl hated him, more than he hated the man who had tried to do _that_ to him.

Gareth held out the bottle once more to Carl, letting him take it in his own hands. Carl drank about half before the bottle was pulled away from him, making it spill onto his jeans. Gareth wagged a finger in front of him before closing and locking the kennel's door, "Don't get greedy now, you have to share." He started whistling, a tune Carl didn't recognize, as he walked over to the occupied cage next to Carl's. Carl flinched again when Gareth abruptly kicked the cage, "Time to wake up sleepy head."


	4. Blitz

**I think this is it for tonight's installments, hopefully more soon. :)**

**Warning: This is a Mature story with adult subject matter. It involves dark, sometimes unpleasant, situations that may not be suitable for some. Turn back if that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable. What I love about TWD world is that it pushes the limits of the human psyche and can make for some very pliable fiction. This is a little outside of anything I've ever written, but if you're not scared off, please enjoy! Reviews are welcome, but no flames, I beg of you!**

**P.S. I do not own The Walking Dead, this is purely fan based. **

* * *

Rick palmed the back of his eyes with his free hand, the other cuffed to a sturdy pipe. Shaking his head to clear it of the ringing in his ears, he groaned involuntarily. It wasn't as bad as a couple nights back when a gun had been shot in close range, right beside his head, actually, but, it was enough to muddle his thoughts. It had gone wrong, terribly wrong. They all knew that a blitz attack in their tight quarters was a dangerous plan with minimal chance of success, but it was all any of them could come up with under the circumstances. It was all Bob could suggest- he paused in his thoughts – Bob. He'd been the first one shot, right through the head. It had been quick, shocking, and had caused an outrage among his group. They knew, knew, that there could be casualties when they'd agreed to the plan. Somehow though, Rick didn't think anyone in the group had really expected having one right off the bat, though, certainly not a headshot. They had hoped for more of a fighting chance.

It had all happened so fast after the Crate door had opened. Daryl had insisted Rick not be on the front line of the attack, saying that, if it went wrong, Carl would be out the last of his surviving family. Rick wasn't happy standing back letting other's take the brunt of the risk. He'd shaken his head vehemently, "I need to do this, for Carl," His eyes grew softer as he looked around at the faces he'd grown most familiar with, "Besides, I'm not the only family my boy has left." Daryl understood the subtle message, but he added in softly, "Blood Rick, you're his blood."

It was decided after that, that Daryl, the man with the red hair that Rick couldn't put a name to just then, and Bob would be the ones who rushed their guard. At first it seemed they had overpowered the man who'd come to investigate their obnoxious screams of fake terror as they screamed, "Walker! Oh my God, he's turned. Someone's turned! Help us!" The man had been hauled inside and shoved up against a wall, but he'd managed to get his gun situated under Bob's chin and he hadn't hesitated to pull the trigger. The blast had alerted his fellow Terminus brethren of his plight, they'd come running, armed to the teeth. Those inside the crate had faltered at the sight of Bob's gory death. It was an image Rich didn't want to focus on.

Maggie had gotten hit too, but that had been low, around her thigh he wanted to say. He remembered seeing Glenn shove her down as another bullet had gone whizzing by, it would have hit her dead center in the chest if she'd still been upright. He'd heard another female voice scream out in pain, but he hadn't seen who that had been. Rick didn't think it sounded like anyone from his group, though. Not that he could be one hundred percent sure. After that it had been a blur. Rick had joined in the struggle, but he'd taken a well-placed strike to his temple with the butt of a semi-automatic and dropped like a sack of potatoes. After that he was in an out of consciousness. He remembered being dragged by his ankles out of the crate, down the few steps, head bouncing on each one painfully. They'd carried someone else out behind him. He tried to clear the blurry image of who it had been, but his head was pounding too hard to concentrate. All he could picture were boots, possibly Daryl's.

It never got any easier to see a friend murdered in cold blood, certainly not up close and personal. And it was that human spark of emotion, the shocked anguish which made them come to a halt, that caused them to lose their edge. The Terminus members were on them in seconds, spraying bullets wherever they could, hitting whoever they could. Rick pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to think, not to wonder who was alive or dead, and not to imagine what was happening to Carl. A familiar, feminine voice rang out from his right, "Rick, you're finally awake." Rick turned his head, slowly in disbelief, "Carol?"

Carl held his breath, waiting, but the girl still didn't move. He really was beginning to think she was dead and just taking a really long time to reanimate. Gareth wasn't pleased by the lack of response, "Hey, wake up!" Carl watched as the man unlocked her door and reached in. Carl sort of hoped that she did reanimate, like now. "Oh for Fuck's sake," Gareth swore as he shook her still form, "Get up," Carl saw it, a barely noticeable twitch of the girl's hand. If he hadn't been looking at that exact spot, he'd have missed it. Gareth was in the process of turning the girl over from her side when she sprang into motion, lunging for him. Gareth just managed to dodge her snapping teeth, scuttling just far enough out of reach. Carl couldn't believe it; he hadn't actually thought he'd get his wish. Gareth sprang into action as she went for him again, slamming the cage door shut, cutting off her attack. She was locked in again and Carl's heart sank, it had been so close. It didn't occur to him that even if Gareth had been mauled, he'd still be locked inside of his own cage. All he cared about was seeing his tormentor suffer.

To Carl's bewilderment Gareth yelled at the girl, "See! It's that kind of shit that got your water privileges revoked for the last three days!" He kicked the cage again, an action the girl mimicked from inside, though not as effectively. It occurred to Carl in that moment, as he watched her more closely, that he had been wrong. She hadn't come back from the dead like he had assumed; she'd never been dead in the first place. It had been a trap; she had lain there, unmoving, for hours waiting for the right moment to strike. It was smart, really. Carl had to admire her patience, he didn't think he could be so still in such cramped conditions; he was always adjusting his position. She hadn't even flinched when Gareth had kicked her kennel, nor, Carl thought in embarrassment, when he'd been crying and begging to be let go. He hoped that she might have actually been asleep for some of that.


	5. Gotta Go

**I think by now everyone is aware of this stories Mature warning so I'll just say that I hope you've enjoyed the story so far and continue to enjoy. Thanks again for your support!**

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Daryl couldn't believe it; someone had had a fuckin Taser and Daryl had been 'it' in that game of tag. His muscles had locked up on him and he was out of the fight, but not before he got to knee some Terminus asshole in the gonads. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't much, but it was somethin'. He was able to move again, but there wasn't much point to it; he was in another crate, alone this time. He sat there, sore, tired, and pissed the hell off. For now he'd bide his time, wait, and see.

Water was good, it was life, but it had consequences and Carl was suffering from those consequences. His bladder had surpassed 'uncomfortably full' and had reached 'I need to go and I need to go now'. Gareth had stormed out hours earlier, but not before opening the water bottle and pouring its contents onto the floor right in front of the girl's cage. Carl would have given anything, even if it was the last chocolate bar on earth, to have had that empty water bottle that was laying a few feet away from him where Gareth had dropped and left it. As a makeshift toilet went, it wasn't perfect, but it was preferable to the alternative, which was going in his pants.

Carl was trying hard to hold it, hoping Gareth would come back soon. Ha, that was a funny thought; him actually hoping for that psycho's return. Carl probably wouldn't have minded so much if he did wet his pants if things were like they were when he'd first arrived in that awful room, but it was different now that the girl was awake. He could feel her stare as he shifted again, trying to find a position that lessened the urge to go, to no avail.

He'd tried talking to her when Gareth had first left them alone together, but Carl quickly figured out that she wasn't the talking type. All of his questions, his attempts to establish a connection, had ended in complete failure. It was frustrating and, as stupid as it was, it had made him mad at her. Even Daryl and Michonne, who were notorious for their less than chatty ways, had the common courtesy to answer a direct question when asked.

Carl had given up on making an ally out of her, but that didn't mean he was anywhere near okay with wetting himself in front of a girl. "Come on," He muttered under his breath as he closed his eyes leaning back against the kennel, "Give me a break." He drifted off a short time after that.

Carl woke with the fuzzy notion that something was wrong. His lap felt warm and…wet. Shit. He'd done it in his sleep completely unaware of what he was doing in real life as he had dreamed about relieving himself in the woods. He hadn't gone too much, not like he was sitting in a puddle, but it was enough to soak the front of his jeans rather obviously.

He shot a quick glance over to the girls cage to see if she was still watching him and breathed a sigh of relief when he found her back was to him as she lay curled in a ball once more. Just in case, he adjusted himself so his lap was angled away from her should she look over. He couldn't do anything about it now that it had already happened except wait for it to dry. If he was lucky, it would dry before she could find out.

His pants were still damp when Gareth made his appearance some odd minutes later. Oh, now you show up, Carl thought bitterly. "Rise and shine my little pets," Gareth called in a singsong voice. Carl drew his legs up to his chest to hide the evidence of his accident. The cage next to Carl clanged as the girl uncurled herself and sat up. It was brighter now, daytime he supposed, as he could see her more clearly.

She was young too, but older than Carl like the walker; maybe a little older than the walker; somewhere around eighteen or nineteen. She had less room in her same sized kennel than Carl had, making her taller than he was; he couldn't tell by how much. Her face was hidden by long tangled brown hair, lighter in color than Carl's, but dirtier too.

Like the walker, she was littered in bite marks of varying depths and shades. It made Carl queasy to see them in the light of day. Day- he'd been there a day already. Where were the others? Why hadn't they come for him yet? He pushed back the uneasiness that creeped into his mind. He couldn't go there.

Gareth went over to her first; in his hand was another water bottle. As he unscrewed the cap he said, "Let's try this again, can't have you dying of dehydration like the other one." Carl had his answer to one of his many unasked questions. The walker hadn't had any obvious kill wounds that he could see, but he hadn't dared ask what had caused her change. He'd learned the night before that one of the ways Gareth punished bad behavior was through water deprivation, but he hadn't put two and two together until now.

Rather than opening her cage, Gareth hovered over it, "Look up." Carl was curious at the command, but got it a second later when Gareth began pouring water through the top of the cage. The stream was intercepted by the girl who had opened her mouth to catch what she could. It was a messy way of doing things; a lot of the water missed its mark and was freely running down the girl face, soaking the front of her oversized T-shirt.

It was the first time Carl had really noticed what she was wearing, which was just that; an oversized, filthy T-shirt. She didn't have on any pants or shorts. The shirt was long enough to cover part of her upper thighs like a too short dress. Carl frowned at the sight, he didn't like that she was so exposed. It felt wrong.

Gareth emptied the contents of the bottle, tossing it away somewhere behind him. Satisfied he spoke, "That should do it for now." He rounded on Carl who was still scrunched up, legs tight to his chest. "Mornin' bud," Gareth spoke jovially, "Don't worry, I didn't forget about you." He produced another water bottle. Carl had mixed feelings about drinking from it as he was still sporting the evidence of his last drink. Gareth sauntered over to his cage. Rather than pour the liquid in the the top like he had with the girl, Gareth opened the cage, "Come on out."

Carl didn't move; couldn't bring himself to do it. He was ashamed and shame outweighed his fear. Gareth was more patient with his refusal than he would have suspected, "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you." Carl couldn't do it; he knew he should to avoid the man's wrath, but he couldn't. Maybe if he stayed, Gareth would give up and pour the water in from the top.

He didn't. Gareth, for whatever reason, wanted him out and was ready to force him. He put down the bottle and grabbed Carl's legs, yanking on them. Carl tried to hold onto the rungs of the cage, but the motion had been sudden, not giving him time to react quick enough. He was out, lying on his back with Gareth over top of him. Without thinking, he brought his hands down to cover the stain on his pants, but Gareth had already seen it. He chuckled, "Ah, so that's why you didn't want to."

Carl gave him the dirtiest look that clearly said, "Don't you dare." If Gareth had interpreted the look, he didn't acknowledge it as he said loudly, "Well, guess I shouldn't be too surprised. Don't most kids piss themselves, after all?" The smirk he gave Carl before glancing over to the girl in the cage, who was tactfully looking away from them, made Carl angry. He'd done it on purpose, the bastard. He was trying to embarrass Carl and it had worked. Carl was mortified. Gareth turned back to Carl, eyes twinkling in mirth, "Guess we'd better get you cleaned up, huh?"


	6. Promises

**Alrighty guys, I can't respond to some of the reviews, but I seriously appreciate the feedback. This story has a destination in mind so no worries about me continuing. There's even going to be a sequel! If you hang in there with me and Carl, we'll see this thing through. You guys are Fantastic! And yes that was a nod in the direction of the great number nine. Cookies if you get the reference. =D**

**This Chapter is a little shorter than the others, but I'll be updating again within the day. Promise. **

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Maggie was trembling, tears pouring freely down her face. Glenn held her, whispering words of comfort in her ear. They were together, finally, after so much they had found one another, but for how long would they remain side by side? How long would she be able to stay in his arms? They were one of the few left in the crate. When their blitz attack had ended, with disastrous results, the group had been separated again. Rick, Daryl, Sasha, and the new girl, Rosita, had been carried out. Rick had been unconscious, Daryl immobile, Sasha in hysterics, and Rosita writhing in pain. She'd been shot like Maggie; unlike Maggie, she'd been hit in the stomach.

Maggie was grateful that her own bullet had gone clean through and had missed all major arteries. Glenn had ripped his own shirt to bind the wound; it would heal, so long as infection didn't set in. That's if they survived long enough to worry about an infection. With the others taken, and Bob dead – her eyes travelled to the body that had been left behind- there was little hope of them escaping. Their one chance, as crazy as it had been, was gone. They'd lost. Maggie's tears came harder and she bit her lip trying to stifle her cries. She felt Glenn's embrace tighten as he spoke softly, "We'll get out of this, I swear."

She wanted to believe him, wanted nothing more than to wrap those words around herself as if they were a shield. Glenn would do whatever it took to protect her, he would sacrifice himself if it meant Maggie lived another day. That was what terrified her the most. She couldn't lose Glenn, not after Beth, her dad, and the others. She brought her hands up to either side of Glenn's face, pressing her forehead to his, "Promise me. Promise me we'll both get out of this alive. I won't go on without you. It's either together, or not at all." Glenn brought his mouth to hers, imparting a simple, closed mouth kiss before answering, "I promise; together or not at all."

Gareth's pockets reminded Carl of an old movie he used to watch back when they still had television. As Gareth fished out a zip tie from his jeans, Carl thought of the bag that Marry Poppins carried around; he wondered what else Gareth had in there. Wondered if he still had the army knife. If he could somehow get his hands in there to check… but that was a longshot. "Wrists together, kid." Carl followed the order, bringing his hands together as Gareth looped the zip tie over them. He was back to being bound and at even more of a disadvantage than when his hands were free.

Not that he was much of a match for the older man. Carl was good with a gun; he could hold his own in a gunfight any day of the week, but close combat was different. His body, while still growing, hadn't fully matured yet. Carl wouldn't call himself a weakling by any means, but going toe to toe with a grown man, without a weapon, was suicide.

He was lifted to his feet and directed to the door. That was good, Carl thought. Stuck in a cage that was tucked away in some locked room, he had no chance of escape. Outside of both, maybe he did. If Gareth let down his guard, if there was an opening, Carl was going to try to take it. He just needed to be smart about it.

As Gareth unlocked the door, one hand still firmly placed around the back of his neck, Carl peeked behind him. The girl was eyeing them, fingers curled through the links of the cage. It disturbed Carl to see the expression on her face, worry. If he got free, no, when he got free, Carl would come back for her. It was a promise he didn't say out loud, nevertheless, it was a promise he intended to keep. He gave her a slight nod before he was pushed through the doorway and out into an empty hall.


	7. Fight

They didn't go far, veering off to another corridor and passing by a few open rooms that held nothing of interest. They came to a halt in front of another door, less intimidating in size than the one that lead into the room Carl been taken from. Gareth pushed the door open, shoving Carl inside first. It was a bathroom.

Carl was naked, wet, and trembling. Back at the prison he'd showered at the same time as other guys, some younger, most older. Before that he'd washed up whenever they'd found a creek or lake, always with others. Not once in any of those times had it bothered him to be in the buff in front of other males. It was just the way things were done. Now was different. He could feel Gareth's eyes roaming his body in a way that made the younger boy uneasy.

When they'd first come in, Gareth had brought him towards a couple of water pails, all full, with a stained cloth hanging over the side of one of the buckets. He'd jumped almost a foot in the air when Gareth had gone for the button on his pants. "What are you doing?" He'd asked. Gareth had just looked at him, "Well, if you think you can get your pants undone alone, be my guest." Carl had tried and had succeeded in only getting his zipper down. The button remained elusive. He'd received a knowing smile as Gareth inquired, "Need some help there, bud?"

He wanted to say no, but as he scrambled to get the damn thing open it became obvious that his hands weren't in a position to cooperate with their given task. Without saying a word, without making eye contact, Carl stopped struggling with the front of his pants and waited. Gareth approached him, slowly, and with ease, undid the last remaining hold of Carl's jeans. They slipped from his waist, pooling around his knees.

Gareth tugged them down the rest of the way, allowing Carl to step out of them. Gareth stepped back, slipped a hand in his left back pocket, once again brandishing the army knife. So he did have it. Gareth removed the zip tie and Carl made a note of which pocket he returned the knife to. "Alright," Gareth instructed, "off with the rest."

Carl unzipped his jacket, pushing it down his arms and letting it rest on the ground beside him. His shirt came next and, down to his underwear, he hesitated. Gareth nodded, "Those too." He complied, begrudgingly. "Pick up the cloth, that's right, I think you know how to do the rest." Carl did and he began to wash himself. It was too strange to be watched as he rubbed the cloth over his chest, so he turned his back on Gareth, just slightly. He could still see the man out of his peripheral vision.

It felt good to wash, much as Carl hated the circumstances of his bath. He was lost in his thoughts as a light, almost ticklish touch to the small of his back, made him jolt. "Easy, kid," came Gareth's voice, low in tone as if he were talking to a skittish mare in need of breaking. Carl wasn't soothed and he shivered as the fingers trailed up his spine in a way that made his skin tingle. Not in a good way, either. "Don't," Carl said, moving away from the unwelcome contact, "touch me."

Gareth's breath was hot against his ear, "You don't get to make those calls." It was fast, a blur of motion as Carl whipped around, and shoved his hand in the man's back pocket. He pulled out the knife, not giving Gareth time to register what he was doing, he jumped back. "I said," Carl flicked the knife open, sharp end pointed towards Gareth, "Don't touch me."

Gareth raised his hands in cautious surrender, "Balls in your court now, what are you going to do, kid?" He could make a mad dash for the door, he was still naked as the day he was born, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was getting away from the monster in front of him. Carl calculated the distance from the door, the time it would take to open it, and how long it would take Gareth to intercept him. He didn't like his odds, didn't like the idea of his back to Gareth, knife in hand or not.

Carl quickly made a call; he would fight. He lunged for Gareth, swiping at his throat, managing a small gash to his chest instead as Gareth danced away from him, reversing their positions putting Carl closest to the door. Gareth was calm, calmer than when the girl had used her surprise attack on him. He was out of Carl's reach as he clucked his tongue, "That was pretty good, kid. No one's managed to make me bleed for a long time, you should feel proud." Gareth's eyes darkened, "While you still can because you're definitely going to pay for that."

Carl gripped the knife tighter, mouth in a grim line, looking for an opening. His whole body was tense as silence stretched between them. Gareth, who was now standing next to the buckets, kicked one over, officially breaking their standstill. Water went everywhere. It was enough to distract Carl who dodged a swiping arm.

His bare feet slipped in the puddle sending Carl crashing to the ground with a heavy smack, "Ugh!" Gareth came down on him, his body knocking the air out of Carl's lungs. They were both wet now, as they wrestled clumsily. Gareth beat his hand, the one with the knife, onto the tile; once, twice, and then again. Carl lost his grip on the weapon, sending it skittering across the floor out of his range. His arms were forced above his head, "Looks like I win, kid."


	8. Coping

**Terribly sorry to leave you guys in suspense with that last cliffhanger! This chapter was unexpectedly difficult to write as I just kept apologizing to poor Carl in my head, but I hope it pleases you nonetheless. Your encouragements really helped keep me motivated and I'm shamelessly happy to have received them. Enjoy!**

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It occurred to Carl that he was being carried like a princess in one of the old fairytale books his mom liked to read to him; except, he wasn't in the arms of a hero and neither was he a girl. What Carl was, was numb and in shock. When Gareth had gotten the knife away from him, he'd stayed true to his word and had made Carl pay. More than the time when Carl had head-butted him.

Gareth had held his arms pinned above his head, giving him that maniacal smile that came with twisted violence. Carl hadn't been ready to give up, "Get off!" Gareth had let go of his wrists with one hand, using the other to loosely keep Carl in place. Bringing his open palm down across Carl's cheek he shouted, "Shut up!" Ignoring the sting of the slap, Carl wormed his left arm out of Gareth's grasp using his free hand to push up on the man's chin, forcing his head back. It was a forearm pressing into Carl's throat, blocking his air supply, which made him let go.

"Ugh," He tried to shove the arm away, bucking his body underneath Gareth's. "It'll be better for you if you stop fighting me," Gareth advised, unshaken by the boy's resistance. A strangled noise was Carl's only response. He could feel the muscles in his throat work as he gulped for air that wouldn't come. His vision was going fuzzy around the edges, a darkness sneaking in. He was blacking out, a realization that had him reaching up and dragging his fingernails across Gareth's cheek in a last-ditch effort to be released. He heard Gareth hiss as his body went limp and he surrendered to the blackness.

When Carl came to he was disoriented, unsure of where he was or why he was undressed and lying in a puddle of water. A honeyed voice cut through his confusion, "Oh good, I didn't want to start without you." What was going on? Who was – Gareth. It came back to him all at once; images of the last few days flooding his mind in rapid succession. He'd tried to fight, tried to get away, and Gareth had choked him into submission.

They were still in the bathroom, only Carl was now on his side, hands zip tied as well as his ankles. He was completely at the mercy of Gareth, a truth that had Carl squeezing his eyelids shut as he tried to force away the growing sense of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. He heard the footsteps coming towards him as they made wet slapping sounds against the tile. Carl stiffened, telling himself that it would be okay. Told himself that, no matter what, he would be strong like his dad and resilient like Michonne.

He pictured their faces as Gareth knelt down behind him. He recalled the rare times the three of them had found a small measure of peace. Gareth rolled him over onto his back. Carl didn't open his eyes as he felt fingers trace over his earlier bite wounds. He held onto the image of his father smiling at him and Michonne as they balanced the train line. He ignored the hot breath hovering over his collarbone, thinking only of Michonne pouting as she offered him the chocolate bar as promised. In his mind, he was splitting the candy, about to offer her half, as teeth clamped down on his skin.

Carl tried desperately to block out reality as Gareth moved on from his collarbone and settled just under his ribcage. He was unaware of his own moans of pain as he travelled through fonder memories. When Gareth reached his hip bone, the pleasant recollections were waning in favor of the very real nightmare he found himself in.

As the skin on his inner right thigh was giving way to Gareth's sharp canines, Carl could no longer keep the happy faces of Michonne and his dad in focus. Tears slid down his temples as the torture went on. It felt like days passed by and, when it was finally over, Carl was covered, neck to feet, in Gareth's perverse brand marks. He had felt the zip ties being cut off, Gareth having retrieved his knife while Carl was passed out. Carl didn't have it in him to fight, to try to take back the weapon.

He felt his body being pulled away from the puddle he'd been lying in, felt a dry cloth mopping up the water on his skin, wincing whenever it passed over one of his wounds. He was being dressed in clothes that weren't his; a button up shirt that was too long in the arms and a pair of too loose jeans that covered his feet. He felt himself being lifted from the floor, one arm under his knees and the other below his back.

He knew he was being carried out, but Carl couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. He didn't want to see the face of the man who had taken away an innocence Carl didn't even know he had left. He didn't want to feel or to think. Carl just wanted to hide in the farthest reaches of his mind for as long as he could. He understood why the girl in the cage next to him didn't talk. Carl didn't feel much like talking either, not after what he'd just experienced. He couldn't begin to imagine what horrors that girl had faced and he wasn't about to try either because Carl knew that those were the same horrors that were in store for him.


	9. Failure

**A thousand apologies for the sudden unexpected hiatus! I've been itching to get back to this story, but life threw some pretty mean curveballs in my direction. I snuck away to update and, while I know it's not super long (as you deserve), I hope it feeds your hungry souls. Thank you for the support and, as requested, double spaced. The format was giving me some trouble so if it isn't right I'll try to fix it. In any case, enjoy! ^_^**

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Judith was alive. It was the soul thought resounding in Rick's mind. He had been so sure, had assumed the worst

when he'd seen the blood covered car seat. The possibility of Judith's survival had never crossed his mind, not even

for the briefest of moments. For that he felt a stab of guilt. He tried to reason with himself that he couldn't have

known. There had been more evidence to suggest that Judith had become the victim of a Walker rather than having

been saved by a member of the Prison.

If Rick were brutally honest with himself, he'd long since lost any real hope that a baby could survive in a world

where a grown, able bodied man could be ripped apart in the blink of an eye. It had been all he could to do keep

Carl alive and safe. In an ideal world, in the old world, a baby would have been a welcome addition. In the new

world, in a world of Walkers, thieves, rapists, and murderers, a child had little chance of surviving a day, let alone a

lifetime.

When he'd found out about the pregnancy, instead of facing reality, Rick had stubbornly clung to the idea that

sheer willpower and love could, and would, be enough to make it work. Lori had known; she'd understood, after

Carl had been shot, that the world was no longer a place for children.

Rick had refused to listen; it wasn't until later that he began to second guess his initial insistence that he'd made

the right call. Lori had died and that was on him, it always would be. Part of him, a deep and dark part of his mind,

had found closure in knowing Judith could find peace with her mother. It was a thought that made him feel like a

coward and a failure.

Still…when Carol had told him that Judith had been alive and was taken from her no more than a few hours

previously, he'd experienced a tangle of hope, joy, and dread all in one. His daughter, because it had never

mattered who the biological father was, had survived the impossible already. Rick didn't know how, but he would

find her and he would get Carl back, even if he had to go to Hell and back to do it. After that, he'd never let them go

again and anyone who tried to stand in the way of that could already consider themselves dead.

It was growing dark as dusk settled over the compound. It had been a few hours since Carl had been brought back

to his kennel. He had made a point of not meeting the girl's eyes, choosing to stay facing away from her in the fetal

position. She'd made quite a racket to get his attention since he'd arrived, but he'd ignored the increasingly

annoying clanging of her cage until she had eventually given up with a very audible sigh.

She didn't have to say it out loud for Carl to understand that she was worried about him. In an odd way, the two of

them had formed an unspoken bond. He wouldn't go so far as to call her a friend, he didn't know a thing about her,

but she was a comrade. If, he mentally shook his head, when they got out of there, she would become part of their

group; he had no doubt in his mind. Eventually he would let her know that he was fine, as fine as he could be

considering, but he wasn't ready to face her just yet. Carl's pride had taken a serious blow and for a reason he

couldn't fully explain, he felt like he'd let her down. He'd promised to save her and had failed miserably. Not that she

knew about his promise, but that didn't matter to Carl.

Ask dusk gave way to night, Carl closed his eyes. His stomach growled and for the first time he realized how hungry

he really was. He wondered how long until Gareth came back and if he would bring food, then decided he'd much

rather starve to death than see his face ever again. Beside him he heard another heavy sigh. Carl shifted his

weight, knocking against the side of his kennel to let the girl know he was still there with her. She knocked back,

making Carl smile softly as he drifted off.


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